Last night’s jam session was packed with people. The establishment was going out of business and somehow this attracted jazz ghouls, suddenly smitten with nostalgia for a place that they were loathe attend during its run. As a result the session went an hour overtime so that every last singer, sax player, and whistler could be accommodated.
When we finally finished the last “act,” a Danish accordion player who played Baby Elephant Walk in 5/4, I breathed a sigh of relief, and stood up from the piano when all of a sudden an audience member starting yelling, “LET’S HEAR ONE MORE FROM THE BAND!” Of course the crowd cheered and hooted and the marathon night dragged on for another 15 minutes.
Now I love music as much as the next guy (probably more, since I actually play it for a living) but after having played for two hours straight I was ready for some Netflix. Enough is enough, people. If you really liked this club you would have patronized it during its heyday.
But let me tell you something, when a guy screams at the band to play one more song, it’s not about his love of music or his appreciation of the band. It’s about injecting himself into the conversation. It’s all about ego. Look at me – I love these guys, I love music so much, I’m so hip.
The art of the humblebrag.